


Push and Pull

by greygerbil



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 07:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Michele is already confused enough that he seems to be making a friend, which has never been something he found very necessary. It's not long before his relationship to Georgi grows more complicated than even that, though, and Michele stumbles his way through completely unknown territory.





	Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Halrloprillalar (prillalar)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prillalar/gifts).



> I love this pairing so much and I hope I managed to hit on some of the things you like about them, too.
> 
> Warning for... I guess mutual dubcon because alcohol is involved the first time they have sex. They're really more tipsy than black-out drunk, though.

Michele was reasonably sure he was in the process of befriending Georgi Popovich.

Michele didn’t have many friends and didn’t feel he lacked for it. There was Emil, who had one day simply decided they would be buddies and that had been so long ago Michele forgot to complain about it by this point; he had an amicable relationship to his two coaches, Leonardo and Gabriella; and of course he talked to his rink-mates every once in a while. Getting too close to any woman would have felt like a betrayal to Sara, though, and doing the same with a man would have put Sara in their path. Besides that, with his twin sister right there, why would he need to try to make connections to perfect strangers?

He hadn’t in this case, either, not on purpose. Georgi had caught him after the Rostelecom Cup to compliment him for his free skate and, coming just on the heels of his narrow miss of a GPF spot and Sara pushing him away to moon over Seung-Gil instead… Michele wasn’t sure what had happened, honestly, but the attention had been nice and Georgi also knew _Destiny of Knights_ , the movie from which his first song had been taken, and they had been talking for an hour when Sara had to come find Michele so they could go back to the hotel.

He’d been aware of Georgi before, of course. It would be difficult not to be. While he had never reached Victor’s raw skill or popularity, he was a skater who had beat Michele often enough and his performance-heavy programs and outrageous costumes were hard to forget. Michele had talked to him a few times, errant comments in the locker room or at a banquet, but never enough to learn, for example, that Georgi really liked medieval period dramas and modern fairy-tale retellings, too. Considering Georgi couldn’t know much about him, either, it was uncanny and a little intriguing how well he read Michele’s intentions behind his skate of _Serenade for Two_.

They had exchanged phone numbers at Georgi’s behest. He was the only one texting at first, sometimes once a week, sometimes once a day. Georgi liked to share little, half-sensible and often poetic thoughts and photos of St. Petersburg covered in snow, which were admittedly pretty. Michele talked about his training. At some point, he forgot when exactly, Michele began starting conversations, too. Georgi wrote to him to congratulate Michele and his sister on their golds in the Italian nationals; Michele did the same for Georgi’s bronze, which put him behind Yuri and the returned Victor, but before a whole lot of other talented men, many of them ten years younger than Georgi. He’d watched the performance back later. It was more stable and fine-tuned than it had been in the qualifiers. Georgi might be a problem at the Europeans.

Georgi called him to wish him a Merry Christmas and they switched to Skype so Michele had a chance to talk at length about his gigantic family up at his grandparents’ house in the Toscana when the sheer amount of people got a bit too much and Sara was too busy with her favourite cousins to indulge his complaints. Georgi was a good listener, Michele thought, as he switched off the call. Very focused, all there, not fiddling with something else or looking lost in thought.

It just snuck up on Michele somehow that by the time the Europeans came around, it seemed normal to him that he knew things like when Georgi’s flight would arrive. Thinking of Emil, he had to admit that was how he’d come into his life, too; he’d stuck around and eventually Michele got used to him. Only Georgi was writing to him alone, not Sara as well. It made it less difficult to be at ease with him, though of course Michele always remained vigilant.

At the Europeans, Michele came in fourth after Chris with bronze, Georgi fifth by a hair’s breadth, while the now apparently unavoidable Yuri Plisetsky earned silver and Victor, triumphantly returned, remained eternally at the top.

At the party in the hotel bar after the banquet, when Sara separated from him with a stern word, Michele supported the wall for a bit as he watched her mingle with the male skaters, ignoring Emil’s waves to come join them, since Sara _obviously_ didn’t want him there. At least he could still level his protective gaze on her from here while he finished his fifth glass of champagne. She could hardly blame him for that!

That was when Georgi came over.

He looked as tipsy as Michele felt and congratulated him on his short program, which he said had been very beautiful.

“I could feel the burning passion for duty and loyalty,” Georgi said.

“Too bad I don’t have a liege,” Michele answered, sullenly, into his glass.

Georgi looked at him with compassion. “I’m sorry.”

Michele frowned.

“You don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Not in detail, but it’s obviously important to you,” Georgi answered sternly.

Michele sighed. Well, Georgi probably had an easier time guessing than many. He must have gathered things over the months they had texted. Gloomily, he stared at the congregation once more.

“Do you like the party?” Georgi asked.

“I’m not much of a party-goer,” Michele muttered with a shrug.

He liked tagging along with Sara, who was always so vibrant when socialising, and also much too alluring to be left completely alone, but that was about it. Large groups of people had never made him talkative and while he wouldn’t have said no to a waltz, hip hop and EDM weren’t stuff he enjoyed dancing to.

“You could be my knight today,” Georgi said with a hint of humour in his tone. “I’ve never been to Milan before and I’d like to see a little of the city before I leave tomorrow.”

And abandon Sara? Michele was about to decline when he heard laughter from Sara, now in company of Mila, perfectly happy without him.

Well, if it was going to be like that...

“The Milan Cathedral is close,” he burst out.

“That sounds promising.”

Michele marched ahead of Georgi straight out of the bar, not looking back at Sara, as defiant as he was annoyed. He remained silent as they left through glass doors of the building and walked down the street past closed shops in old stone houses. Georgi made an appreciative noise when they turned the corner to the plaza where the huge, bright, gothic cathedral stabbed the velvet blue sky with it spires.

“Sublime,” Georgi said, thoughtfully, head leaned to the side. His steps slowed to take in the size of the building.

“ _Il Duomo di Milano_ ,” Michele introduced, “dedicated to _Santa Maria Nascente_.”

Milan’s rink was often the home to the Nationals. He had been here many times.

“ _Il Duomo di Milano_ ,” Georgi repeated, his harsh Russian accent putting edges on the smooth Italian words while the alcohol had him slurring just a little, the edges of sounds bleeding together almost imperceptibly. An unwanted smile tugged at the corner of Michele’s lips.

“No?” Georgi asked. “ _Il Duomo di Milano_ ,” he tried once more, smiling at him. In the soft white light of the round street lamps that hung like full moons on their brass holdings, his deep blue eyes were almost the same colour as the night sky. Michele noted that Georgi stood close, shoulder to shoulder with him.

“That was better,” he said, and hastily took a step back, wondering at the brief flutter in the pit of his stomach.

He walked quickly past the palace on the other side of the street and the Piazza Fontana, both of which he pointed out just in passing, heading towards the Chiesa di San Carlo al Corso. When they had arrived there, Michele couldn’t resist making Georgi repeat that last name, though. It sounded – cute. Michele really didn’t know what to do with that thought.

“That one is not for beginners,” Georgi chided.

“Not for drunk ones,” Michele said.

Georgi huffed a laugh.

Looking up at the light teal dome towering over the sand-coloured walls, Michele shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s not one of the prettier churches, I guess,” he said, more to himself, tongue loosened by the alcohol.

“Does it mean something to you?” Georgi asked.

Michele looked at him with a frown. Could the man read his thoughts? “How do you know?”

“If you don’t think it’s impressive, there must be another reason you’d bring someone here,” Georgi said.

Michele hesitated briefly.

“I got lost the first time I came to Milan for a novice competition and ended up waiting on the steps here for an hour. My parent found me eventually. So sitting here is the first real impression I had of Milan.”

Automatically, Michele turned his back to the high, wooden church doors and looked out over the plaza, which was surrounded by round pillars on three sides. Georgi took in the view of blocky modern concrete houses standing opposite of the church with him. They weren’t pretty, either, but Georgi looked strangely happy to see them.

They hit half a dozen other landmarks on their looping way back to the hotel. Georgi seemed to like the renaissance statues and old traces of the antique city that Michele managed to point out and he realised that by the end, he was making an effort to bend to that preference. Eventually, Georgi had taken hold of Michele’s elbow to pull him back to look at a statue of a Roman goddess and had never let go again and Michele didn’t shake him off. They strolled down the sidewalk towards the hotel. It was nice to have someone hold on to him like that; or maybe not someone, but just Georgi, who wasn’t as loud as most people, and who didn’t get bored with Michele’s tales of stone soldiers and knights. He had no idea what to make of that thought, either.

They entered the hotel through a small side entrance and walked back towards the front through a windowless hallway illuminated just by emergency lighting. He felt from the tug on his arm that Georgi slowed his steps and Michele matched him until they stood still in the middle of the hallway between the two doors. Michele looked at his feet, noting absently that the orange overhead light made the carpet an even uglier shade of green than it might otherwise have been. It seemed to stretched endlessly in both directions.

“Michele…”

Georgi’s hand slid down from his arm to wrap around Michele’s fingers.

Talking really seemed like a terrible idea now because Michele was much too drunk and so was Georgi and he didn’t know at all what to say. Suddenly, he wondered if Georgi had taken him aside on purpose, had wanted to see Michele more than the city. What would he do if that was true? What if Georgi expected an answer of some sort out of him? And how many hints in the text and calls had Michele missed that had led to this point? All at once, the last two months twisted in his memory, became hard to read, leaving Michele with nothing to call back on.

The easiest thing to do would have been to pull his hand back and walk away, but Michele didn’t want that, either. He raised his eyes to meet Georgi’s and, in some desperate attempt to stop him from speaking, crashed their mouths together.

Considering it was his first kiss, Michele couldn’t say whether it was a particularly good one. He was pretty sure he was just standing there with his mouth half-open while Georgi was doing the actual work, arms around Michele’s shoulders, tongue in his mouth, but Michele felt like he had just gulped down a glass of vodka judging by how it made his head spin. When Georgi pulled back, Michele was hard.

Georgi smiled at him. His cheeks were all pink, which was a good look on him. Michele managed to finally move his hands, up his hips and his sides, but there were so many layers of fabric that it only frustrated him. Georgi leaned closer to kiss his neck and that was when his thigh pressed against Michele’s cock. Michele hissed, shocked how very different the touch felt when he wasn’t the one doing it to himself. It was barely more than a brush!

Georgi glanced down and then back at Michele’s face. Swallowing, Michele yanked him closer by the waist. His mind was blank of all ideas where to go from here, but he knew one thing: he still didn’t want it to stop.

While Michele waited for any words to make it from his alcohol-addled brain to his tongue, Georgi suddenly sank to his knees before him. It took him a moment of focused concentration to deal with Michele’s belt buckle, obviously calling on the last fine motor skills he still had left. He pulled down his zipper and tugged at the fabric of Michele’s shorts.

For a moment, Georgi was just holding Michele’s cock and Michele was breathing heavily taking in the image of his lips an inch away from the head of his manhood. Somehow, even though Georgi was decked out for a Russian winter day, with scarf and long black coat, this was hotter than any porn he had ever looked at.

Georgi braced himself on Michele’s thighs before he took him in his mouth. His mouth was wet and warm and Michele could feel the slide of his tongue against his skin. Then, Georgi looked up at him, blue eyes peering through dark lashes, almost curious, and Michele’s hips moved without warning. He pushed into his mouth once, twice, meeting soft resistance at the back of it that only made it harder to stop, and then he came, harder than he had in years.

He doubted he had lasted twenty seconds.

Georgi pulled back coughing. There was some seed dripping over his bottom lip and chin, which looked good enough that Michele forgot to apologise.

Door hinges whined.

Georgi jumped to his feet and Michele hastily pulled his jacket down, turning his back to the door that had opened to tuck himself back in. Over his shoulder, he saw a maid, who looked at them in mild confusion.

“We’re… on the way to the bar,” Georgi said, unprompted, muffled slightly by his hand wiping his mouth.

As soon as he had managed to shove his belt back into the buckle and fasten it in the first available hole, Michele stormed towards the door, Georgi in close pursuit. They made it out into the front lobby, which was inoffensively crème-coloured and shockingly brightly lit. Michele felt like he had stumbled back into the real world through a portal.

“I should go clean up,” Georgi said, coming to a halt before the men’s bathroom.

Michele nodded his head, but as soon as the door had swung shut behind Georgi, his feet seemed to carry him away on their own accord. It was way, way too much for one evening, all a jumbled mess in his head.

When Georgi returned to the bar, Michele had already managed to attach himself to Emil, who was happily chatting on about some hair-raising sports endeavour he planned for the summer that would no doubt drive his poor coach to distraction and thankfully didn’t leave much of an opening for anyone else to join the conversation. Michele avoided Georgi’s gaze, but found himself carefully glancing Georgi’s way whenever he was sure Georgi wasn’t looking.

-

For the next week, Michele did basically nothing but turn that evening in Milan around in his head. He had never been one to forget after drinking – right now, he didn’t know if he wanted to be. It would have been less complicated. On the other hand, it would have meant losing the memories of Georgi stumbling his way through Italian church names, unearthing old, meaningless memories of Michele’s childhood, and talking excitedly about a statue of Mars Michele had shown him while holding on to Michele’s arm.

And it would have meant forgetting about Georgi on his knees in front of him.

Which he wasn’t stuck on. Shouldn’t be.

It kept popping up in his thoughts, though, especially when it was at night and he was alone in his room, staring at the ceiling. It had felt amazing.

He had actually taken a cold shower because of this once.

It wasn’t that Georgi was a man. Michele knew that he liked men, but so far, he’d liked them in an abstract sense. Sometimes he jerked off, but he thought about faceless guys, or some man he saw in a picture on the internet without a name, not anyone that meant anything to him. He would never use a person he knew as fodder for that. He wasn’t a dog like those men that panted after Sara.

Except, that was exactly what he felt like, which would have been bad enough, but in fact something even more confusing was layered on top of it, something more to do with Georgi’s affectionate gazes and the way he smiled at him that seemed to have promised a deeper connection.

A text from Georgi, ‘I hope you got home safe’, – joined later by ‘how are you’ and ‘how was your day’, spaced out over the couple days after – had been sitting ignored in his messages for almost two weeks when Michele got in his car to drive to the seaside town Marina di Ardea by Rome, where he had a photo shoot for a menswear company. Maybe it would be good to get out of the rink; hell, he had never thought anything like that before, but he even looked forward to being separated from Sara for a couple of days. She knew him much too well and had obviously noticed how absent-minded he was and Michele could not bear to tell her what had happened because he didn’t even really understand it himself.

January was not a comfortable month to stand outside in pieces of a summer collection, but the sun was shining and the beach was empty. The woman dressing him explained that the photographer’s vision was to emphasize the vacation feel of the pictures featuring skaters by leaving them barefoot, drawing attention to the fact that they were out of their work gear, so to speak.

The sand was cold against his feet as Michele stepped out onto the beach in the first outfit consisting of beige dress pants and a white button-down shirt when he realised that he should have taken a closer look at the other people the company used to advertise their clothing lines. Maybe the stylist’s words should have tipped him off, too. _Skaters_ implied more than one, after all.

Georgi sat on a stone in just a black Speedo, doing well not showing that it was barely past ten degrees Celsius and a cool breeze was blowing from the sea. Michele stood and stared at Georgi, long legs languidly stretched out, leaning back on his hands, head falling back as he blinked into the noon sun.

Only when the photographer called him off did Georgi sit up and spot Michele. Immediately, his face hardened, mouth shifting from the half-smile he had shown the man in front of him into a thin line as he turned demonstratively away.

Michele felt a twinge that went all the way down to his stomach. Obviously, he’d realised Georgi might wonder why Michele had run from him that evening, or why he hadn’t answered his texts, but it was easier to push the thought away and tell himself he’d think of something fitting to say tomorrow while he hadn’t seen the anger in Georgi’s eyes.

What did Georgi want him to be? Michele couldn’t figure it out and this didn’t help. After all, anyone would be mad at you if you left them standing and cut all communication after what the two of them had done in that hallway. So was it just Georgi’s pride that was dented? Or did he miss their sort-of friendship? Michele still picked up the phone sometimes before he remembered he couldn’t really write to him anymore without dealing with the elephant in the room first.

Or had Georgi wanted him to be his boyfriend?

Michele tried to focus on the photographer and luckily, he seemed to go for the coolly distant look with Michele, which didn’t force him to smile a lot, something Michele wasn’t sure he could have done convincingly. On the eighth outfit, however, Georgi was called over again wearing fashionably torn jeans and a sleeveless shirt with his hair in a carefully styled mess, mismatched to the light tuxedo Michele had been put into. Georgi looked very good and very nonplussed to be placed anywhere close to Michele.

The photographer kept fiddling with his camera as they stood in icy silence, Georgi looking off to the sea, still purposefully avoiding Michele’s gaze. Michele managed this for thirty seconds before he snapped and touched Georgi’s arm to force his attention on him.

“Can we talk?” he whispered.

“ _Now_ you want to talk?” Georgi hissed quietly, all pretence of distant rejection crumbling under the real pain in his deep voice.

He had definitely hurt his feelings. He hadn’t meant to do that and he was sorry and yet Michele was oddly fascinated by the fact that he _could_ , that Georgi obviously cared enough about him that a slight was even possible. However, he pushed that thought away. It really was unworthy of him. He liked Georgi, too, in a lot of ways he found really intimidating to think about, but Michele staunchly believed that a good man was a protector and did not make people he cared for suffer, even if he was afraid. That was pretty much the opposite of chivalry. It was time to hold himself to his own standards.

“Yes,” he said.

The straightforward answer seemed to throw Georgi off, leaving him momentarily tongue-tied. He frowned at Michele.

“I don’t know if I want to talk anymore,” he said.

Before Michele could say more, the photographer had finally wrangled his equipment and they were directed into a series of mirrored poses to show off the clothes they were wearing. Michele could barely concentrate on what the man was saying. He desperately wanted this shooting to be over.

When the photographer sent them back to the stylist, Georgi grabbed Michele’s wrist.

“Find me when you’re done,” he said, still looking off to the side. “We can go to my hotel. It’s not far.”

Michele felt his heart stumble, but gave a curt nod instead.

“I’m here by car. Let’s meet at the parking lot.”

-

They didn’t speak a word on the way. Georgi’s hair was still a bit out of order and he was wearing the same long dark coat as he had in Milan. His hotel was a small, quaint place at the outskirts of Rome guaded by a woman who looked to be eighty watching a soap on a small boxy TV. Georgi said good evening in his shaky Italian, which just further served to remind Michele of that night.

Apparently, Georgi really did not want to risk being interrupted again, for which Michele couldn’t fault him considering that it had given him the chance to ditch Georgi the last time. Georgi brought him up to his apartment on the first floor. Michele closed the door behind himself and took a deep breath.

Georgi beat him to it.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Michele stared, unable to parse that question.

“Yes? Why?”

“Why? I was _worried_! We were both drunk and you ran away, so – the next morning, I didn’t even know if you’d just gotten what you wanted, or if you didn’t want it at all!” Georgi tore his coat off and threw it over the back of a chair, looking as relieved as he looked angry. “You could have at least texted me!”

That interpretation hadn’t entered Michele’s mind at all, possibly because he’d spent so much of the last two weeks trying not to jerk off to the thought of Georgi blowing him that any reluctance on his part seemed a complete diversion from reality.

“No… no, no.” In his desperation to get Georgi back on the right track, he grabbed the man by his shoulders, holding him in place. “I wanted it. I still do!”

The truth came out in a rush.

Georgi stared at him. It was a very intense gaze, the kind that melted the world into a lump around him until only the two of them were left. Michele just managed to hold it.

“Then what are you doing? You could have had more,” Georgi asked, some of the fight gone out of his voice to be replaced with confusion.

“I was drunk?” Michele tried.

“I doubt you were drunk for all of the last two weeks.”

Michele sighed, frustrated.

“I don’t know much about... romance,” he admitted. Or sex, but he was still too proud to just put that out there. It didn’t even use to bother him because it was one thing that differentiated him from other men, those undeserving of his sister, but in front of Georgi, it was suddenly very different. “But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s not like I forgot about it – you.”

He was still holding Georgi’s shoulders, which had sank a little, the tension eased but not gone.

“Don’t think so much,” Georgi said. “Consider what you’re feeling.”

“I can’t begin to tell you.”

“I’m not asking that, either,” Georgi gave back. “Just do it for yourself. Like you do on the ice.”

Michele fell quiet for a moment. On the ice? Well, he had thought about it on the ice, which was were his thoughts were at their most orderly, and yet still intruded upon by this matter. Where had Georgi come to him when he skated?

“I did think about you during practice when I was working on _Serenade for Two_.”

For the first time, Georgi looked as open to his words as he had trailing behind Michele looking at churches he couldn’t pronounce.

“I’d love to know what it looks like now,” he said softly.

Michele leaned in carefully and, when Georgi didn’t pull back, kissed him. This time, he managed not to make the connection with so much force it might give either of them a bruise. It was just a gentle press of their lips, but he felt it to his toes.

“I should still be mad,” Georgi muttered against his mouth.

“You aren’t,” Michele said, after a moment of studying his face.

Georgi shook his head.

“I can’t hold on to anger for people I like very well.”

Not even for the distance between a short program and a free skate, Michele thought to himself, remembering Georgi’s skates this season. It seemed a trait easily abused if you were callous enough to do so. Michele felt unhappily like he may have done just that.

Well, it had been a mistake and he wasn’t going to do it again. Michele detested people who played games.

Again, he leaned in to kiss him, more forcefully this time. Georgi angled his head, which made them line up a lot better. Michele could feel one of Georgi’s hands slide up his back and rest between his shoulder blades, the other on his hip, simple touches that had no right to trigger his nerves like an electric shock and send his heart lurching up into his throat. Dimly, he hoped that he wasn’t too bad at kissing. It felt like he was just nipping at Georgi’s lips, but Georgi opened his mouth for him and the slide of their tongues had Michele urge him closer, still awkwardly holding Georgi by his shoulders.

He pushed him off the moment he noticed that he had grown hard again.

Georgi looked understandably startled and Michele remembered with burning intensity that he did not have much leeway with him right now.

“I just…”

Michele glanced down at himself, brows drawn. Georgi followed the trajectory of his gaze.

“This is your fault!” Michele claimed. “I’m not usually that fast.”

Last time, there was the alcohol to blame it on, but this time it was just the way Georgi fit against him and smelled and tasted and kissed.

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

His brain came to a full stop and only managed to re-engage after a moment. It shouldn’t be so shocking that Georgi asked.

Did he?

“Yes,” Michele managed.

“Are you going to run away again?”

“No!”

Michele kissed Georgi again because that had mellowed him out once already and also because it was still novel to be allowed to. Georgi leaned their foreheads together for a moment before he took Michele’s hand and led him to the bed.

“I don’t have any condoms,” Georgi said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I forgot one the last time, too.”

“That’s fine, I – I know I’m clean.” Michele had as many health tests as any other athlete, and besides, it wasn’t like he could have picked up anything, considering he was a virgin. “You don’t have to worry.” Another reason he should have texted back, probably.

Georgi seemed to evaluate whether to take his word on it, but slowly nodded his head.

Michele had seen Georgi wearing nothing but a tight Speedo today, but watching him take off his clothes – unbutton his shirt, pulling off his shoes and socks, unzip his black jeans, nothing extraordinary in the movements, yet Michele couldn’t stop following them – was much, much more intimate. Georgi stopped at his underwear.

“Aren’t you going to undress?”

“I want to watch you first.”

Was that weird? Michele had no idea. He barely even watched porn. Georgi was handsome, though, and the way he straightened a little at the comment made Michele think he liked the attention. When he pulled his briefs down he did it slowly, more deliberately, and Michele licked his lips, in love with the sight, yet wanting Georgi to hurry up, or maybe to reach over and do it himself.

“Now you,” Georgi said.

Michele had no brain space left to make a show off anything. He kicked off his shoes, almost got tangled up in his shirt as he pulled it over his head. He imagined he was in the changing rooms and quickly pushed down his pants, trying not to think about the fact he was standing naked before a lover, not a rink-mate.

As soon as he was undressed, Michele draped himself over Georgi and pushed him on the bed, which was the easiest way not to think. He might slowly be figuring kissing out because it felt _great_ this time and Georgi made a breathless noise into his mouth.

Georgi’s hands were all over him, but in slow, ponderous movements, like he was trying to commit Michele’s body to memory. Unconsciously, Michele felt himself moving his hips into the soft inside of his thigh, chasing the hints of friction that their hug created. It felt shameless to rut against him, but Georgi didn’t seem to mind, seemed to like the awkwardly greedy, grasping touch of this and his hands, if his own erection was anything to go by. A shuddering breath escaping Michele at the touch of Georgi’s lips to his neck.

“If you sit up, I could use my mouth…”

“No,” Michele said, quickly. “It’s my turn.”

“It’s not about turns.”

Michele frowned at him. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer here. There were still things to make up for and besides, he didn’t want to constantly be the one reeling to get with the program. He wanted to make Georgi feel the way Georgi made him feel.

But what _would_ he do? He didn’t really want to blow Georgi, that seemed like a great way to make himself look stupid and inexperienced, and Michele found the thought daunting, too. However, Georgi took pity on him as Michele hovered there above him locked in place with indecision. With a gentle push, he made Michele back off, and then turned around under him. His hand trailed along Michele’s waist and down over his own thigh and between his legs before he hitched his backside up against Michele and took his hard cock in hand, positioning him.

Michele let out a sharp breath as Georgi’s thighs tightened around his cock. It felt great. A wild stray thought made him wonder if Georgi would ever allow him to go further than that, to what the position almost suggested, but he was kind of happy that right now, he wasn’t called on to navigate something that complicated.

There wasn’t much Georgi could do now without twisting back awkwardly, facing the pillows as he was. He’d put the ball in Michele’s court like Michele had wanted.

Carefully, Michele lowered his face between Georgi’s shoulder blades and kissed him there. He stayed still because any more stimulation than this would have pushed him to the edge too soon and he wanted it to last at least a little bit. Shifting his weight onto his right arm, he lifted one hand and wrapped it around Georgi’s cock in one firm motion coinciding with a surge of bravery.

With solemn concentration, Michele set about getting Georgi off. The mechanics weren’t new to him, so he could concentrate on Georgi’s back, the lines of muscles that moved as Georgi’s breath grew heavier, the way the curve of his spine dipped as he pushed back into Michele. Michele had never quite realised how many small details on a man’s body could turn him on.

When he kissed Georgi’s neck, Georgi made a low noise that ran through Michele as a full-body shiver. He couldn’t stop himself, then, from thrusting between his thighs and Georgi seemed to like that, too, a stuttering breath turning into another half-formed groan. His own precome was making Georgi’s thighs slick and he had to stop jerking him off for a moment, instead gripping his hip to keep him in place. Georgi’s hand was tight around Michele’s wrist where his free hand was balled up into a fist around the pillowcase. Michele came pressing his face in the crook of Georgi’s neck, all thought washed away by the sensation.

He took a few deep breaths before he brought his hand down again. Georgi moaned with every stroke and Michele thought he might immediately get hard again. He kissed his shoulder, tasting the heated skin, and when he pulled back he noticed he had left a red mark on Georgi’s skin. He didn’t know if he was allowed to, but he liked the look of it and hoped it would stay for a while.

When Georgi came, it was with Michele’s name on his lips. Michele waited for him to finish, watching his body tense and then relax, fingers going slack around Michele’s wrist. He freed his hand to take Georgi’s.

He’d said he wasn’t going to run this time.

Michele wiped his fingers on the sheet and rested against Georgi’s back. He was warm and the movement of his back raising and falling with breath that slowly evened out was calming like the waves. Michele rolled off of him eventually, thinking he might be too heavy. Georgi turned to look at him.

“You’re loud,” Michele said, because the way Georgi had moaned for him still stuck in his head.

“I’m in the moment. I don’t think about it,” Georgi said, and the colour on his cheeks and nose and the tip of his ears added to the faintly embarrassed tone.

So Georgi wasn’t completely without insecurities, either. Michele felt relieved.

“I like it,” Michele said. Suddenly, he wanted to know how much louder Georgi could get.

With some surprise, Georgi looked back at him. He smiled a little, then, and inched closer to Michele once more. Michele put his arm around Georgi’s shoulders. He fit nicely.

“How long are you staying in Italy?” he asked after a moment.

“Just until tomorrow morning for the second part of the photo shoot. I have to get back to training for Worlds.”

“After Worlds, you should come visit Naples,” Michele said, sitting up a little to look Georgi in the eyes.

Georgi inclined his head once.

“What about tonight? What are you doing?” Georgi asked.

“I could show you Rome,” Michele said. “There are some beautiful places. You would like it.”

“I would be happy to go anywhere with you tonight,” Georgi said with so much gravity that it sent Michele’s heart racing once more.


End file.
